


A Life Measured out in Coffee Spoons

by SkippingStone



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Cancer, Established Relationship, F/M, Family, a work in fragments, anachronistic timeline, because I am a slob, some medical terms
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-13
Updated: 2018-06-24
Packaged: 2018-09-24 01:41:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 12,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9694217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkippingStone/pseuds/SkippingStone
Summary: These are fragments of Sherlock's and Molly's life at a very dark time.





	1. November, 18th

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I rearranged the words of the great T.S. Eliot for this title, as I have borrowed some lines of the same poem: “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock” to introduce the sentiment of this story. It might just be one of my favorite poems of all time. Also I took the liberty of using the characters of the BBC Sherlock to work through some feelings.

“I am no prophet — and here’s no great matter;  
I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker,  
And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker,  
And in short, I was afraid.“

(Prufrock by T.S. Eliot)

 

1.

John took a deep breath and tried to suppress the rage pulsating through his veins.

“What do you think you are doing here? It took me two damn weeks to find you!” He stares right at Sherlock, who stares out of the dark window.

“Well, I didn't mean for anyone to find me, so-”

“Do you have any idea what you have done? What you are doing? Molly is pregnant, you fucking Bastard!” Infuriated, John took a step closer, lifted a hand and drew it back to his side in a fist.

No answer.

“You have time left! It is not even certain this is going to kill you!” His tone changed to carry the desperation and fear in the face of Sherlock's medical condition.

No reaction.

“You think you are sparing them pain, but this is not how this works! You really think you can make them hate you? Although, you are doing your best with Eleanora, I grand you that. 10 years from now – when you're as dead as you now predict you will be - she won't remember the good times. You scared the living shit out of her.”

His jar locked visibly. 

“You are breaking Molly's heart. And I don't even want to start on Henry. This is... you are wasting precious time. Time that you could spend making memories. Making the best of the time you have...” The argument John put forward is legitimate, but Sherlock shook his head to dismiss those words as if there was something John simply wouldn't understand.

“My remaining time will be spend needing to be cared for and spoon-feet...”

“You are afraid! I get it. I GET IT. But right now you are still capable of supporting Molly. You are leaving her with all the work? For what? Letting her get used to it? There will be another baby soon, and God knows it's the wrong time, but you made a conscious decision and now...”

“Don't be a moron. As if we planned for another-” Sherlock's attempt at ridiculing his friend failed when his words are cut short. 

“Don't even finish those words, I dare you Sherlock.” Accompanied by the words, John took another step closer.

“...so soon after Sof...”

“Don't you dare spit on what you have, not even while trying to detach yourself from that child! You know very well what I was trying to say.” John took the last step, raised his hand and pressed his fist against Sherlock's ribcake. It is only then that Sherlock finally looks at him. 

Of course, Sherlock understood. He didn't want to admit it, however. Not even to himself.


	2. November 18th 2022 (a few hours later)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I rearranged the words of the great T.S. Eliot for this title, as I have borrowed some lines of the same poem: “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock” to introduce the sentiment of this story. It might just be one of my favorite poems of all time. Also I took the liberty of using the characters of the BBC Sherlock to work through some feelings.

It was the sound of well familiar footsteps and the rustling of a just as familiar set of keys that made Molly still – she stopped her hands in the warm dishwater, let the pot softly sink with a sud, and concentrated on listening. Her eyes flew over to Henry and Ellie, playing on the floor between sofa and TV, over to the clock, it was just past seven, further to the closed bedroom-door behind which Sophie was already asleep. And lastly to her side, where a block of kitchen knifes was situated just within her reach. 

The key slit into the lock and while it was turned, Molly considered all the possibilities of this not being Sherlock. It couldn’t be Sherlock, she surely just imagined it. Maybe she didn't know the sound of him coming home as well as she believed. It might just be a mixture of wishing from heart-bottom that it was him and believing that he never left to begin with. Therefore, she was, for a second, convinced that it was a stranger who had acquired Sherlock's keys.

Ellie jumped up first, running over to her and hiding behind her legs, pushing her face into her thighs and hugging them, mostly incapacitating her movement while the door was pushed open. For her there was no other possibility as this being her father. As the person stepped in, Molly drew her hands out of the water and reached to the side, reaching for the tea-towel. Her face hardened, her jaw locked, and she turned towards the front door, making it possible for Ellie to basically disappear behind her. 

Henry, in the meanwhile had stood up, but hadn't moved. With anticipation he observed his father while he freed his feet from his shoes and hung up his coat. One foot was already in-front of the other, ready to jump ahead, still waiting for a sign though, any sign, proving that his Dad was back. Not the screaming, loud man that had left them a couple of weeks ago. 

He got the sign as soon as his father had made another step into the room, his view had for a fraction of a second rested on Molly, assessing the situation, before his face broke into a smile and he addressed it to the one person in the room he knew would most likely condone everything he did, to a degree Sherlock didn't deserve. And surely, Henry took the leap and was hugging Sherlock around the middle until his father pushed his hands under his arms and lifted him up, making it possible to hug him back properly.

“Are you staying, Daddy?” 

“I'm intending to.” With these words, Sherlock decided to look back at Molly. She hadn't moved away, unconsciously she was folding the tea-towel, her expression had softened, her eyes in particular, but she was distant, her teeth still pressed together. To Sherlock, it was clear that she was fighting a war inside. The metaphysical room between the two was full of anger and pain and fear, of all the unspoken words and all the cruel certainties the future hold for their family. The space was so well defined but so impossible to conquer. 

Sherlock led Henry slit down back to the floor, but took his hand instead. The two walked over to Molly, Sherlock's eyes were fixed on the girl behind her, who occasionally had taken a glimpse of what was happening by pushing her head past her mum's legs. In an attempt to not exclude Henry by letting go of his hand, Sherlock lifted the boy up on the counter. There were still a couple of feet between him and Molly. He started to fold up his dressing-shirt sleeves.

“John is coming over in the morning. We'll move the kids-rooms together so Sophie gets her own room.” Molly nodded. Sherlock squated down to be on eye-level with Ellie. He put on a big smile, it was hard because he knew that he didn't deserve her pardon. 

“Considering we use the nice bubbles that we only use on very special occasions, may you be convinced to join bath-time with your brother and me?” 

Instead of making a decision right away, she stepped a bit to the side, still holding on to her mother's legs and looked up to her. Molly's hand came to rest on her daughter's head, softly caressing the dark hair.

“Sherlock, I don't know if...” 

But suddenly something rather unexpected happened. The three-year-old let go of her mother and lifted her arms, she walked the step that still gaped between them. Sherlock, not expecting his daughter to want to share any physical contact, opened his arms so fast he nearly fell over, making Molly gasp for air. He caught himself, enclosed Ellie and lifting her up in one flow. 

“Do you still love me, Daddy?” She whispered into the crook of his neck, pressing her forehead, with all her might, to his ear. 

“Baby... Nora. I never... not. I never not...” Sherlock was shuffling with his words. He was fighting tears, understanding what he did when he left. “I love you very very much. Daddy loves you so very much.” 

It was very silence for a moment and Sherlock found that the only way he could stand the wait for an answer, was by locking his eyes with his wife's.

“I love you, too Daddy and I missed you.” Sherlock released a deep breath and pressed a kiss to her temple. "I missed you, too." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want to find me on Tumblr, I am autumn-grace.


	3. December 24, 2022

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I rearranged the words of the great T.S. Eliot for this title, as I have borrowed some lines of the same poem: “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock” to introduce the sentiment of this story. It might just be one of my favorite poems of all time. Also I took the liberty of using the characters of the BBC Sherlock to work through some feelings.

The house, for this particular moment in time, seemed much too small for all the people shuffled into its entrance hall. There were shoes scattered, a toddler scrambling about, grown-ups who surely and steady became too hot in their winter-clothes and an impatient five year old with too much energy telling a story to his grandfather. 

It was the early afternoon of Christmas Eve and they were much to late for Carol Singing as it was, when, Eleonora decided to open up her coat and let it slip back down her arms. Her mother had just turned away from her oldest daughter to pick up Sophie in order to at least slightly entangle the chaos. 

“Ellie! What do you think you are doing? We need to get on our way!”

“But Mummy! I need the loo!”

“Are you serious, child! You have been two minutes ago. Run then!” Molly ushered her past her father, who stood leaning against the door frame to the lounge, in the process she handed over Sophie. 

Sherlock was overlooking the scenario. His father stood at the front door, waiting ever patient, Henry at his hand. Beside him stood the Watsons- it was their seventh Christmas spend at the Holmes family home- John, with Rosie leant against him, his arms around her shoulders and Mary with her arms crossed beside him in line. They were family. All of them. There was no doubt about it.

A smile graced Mary's lips as if she was greatly enjoying herself, which she most likely was. She must understand, Sherlock thought, really understand what being blessed feels like and he, despite this line of people waiting to finally leave the house, sometimes still struggled to grasp the meaning and the faith it implicated. He envied her for that, and cherished her just a little bit more at the same time for the same reason. 

“Are you sure you don't want to come?” His mother asked him, standing between the door to the lounge and Mary, interrupting his train of thought.

“Oh, I am perfectly sure!”

“Such a spoil Mister!” Mary threw in and faked a frown which was replaced very soon by a big smile.

“Can you please search for the Stockings Sherlock while we are gone? I can't remember were I put them, I could have sworn they were in the kid's suitcase...” The voice came from up the stairs, next Eleonora walked past him, then Molly herself. 'Babybrain' she muttered as she followed, ready to assist her daughter in getting back into her coat as fast as possible. Mary however, had lifted the piece of cloth from the floor and was already fast at work. Hat, mittens, scarf. Everyone was ready.

Henry yanked the door open. A chorus of Goodbyes echoed to the rustling of coats and from one moment to the next the small space was nearly deserted. A stream of cold air from the still open front door made the temperature in the hall more bearable. Molly was still standing where she stopped when her help hadn't been needed any longer, starring at the open door. 

Sophie squeaking happily somehow threw her off her sudden trance. She turned to Sherlock.

“Are you really okay?”

“Yes! Leave.” Sherlock stepped out of the door frame, effectively pushing Molly softly along. Halfway to the door, however, she stopped and turned again all the way to him, lifting her hand and resting it on Sophie's head instantly getting the attention of the child.

“Sherlock!” 

“Molly.”

They were staring at each other. Molly won.

“Mycroft is still here somewhere, probably sulking over his increasing lack of hair.”

“I am not somewhere! I am right here and I am not sulking. I am not a child!” The voice came from the lounge.

“Are you sure?” Sherlock teased. Molly lifted her eyebrows and grinned, Sherlock smiled in triumph. 

Molly draw Sophie in to her, making Sherlock lower her a bit, in order to kiss her goodbye. Sherlock used the moment to lay his arm around her and hug her for a second. They kissed without another word and Molly rushed out the door. 

Sherlock turned on his heels, taking a deep breath, hoping he could make it past the door without his brother noticing. Sophie's blabbering was preventing this opportunity. And he was right, just as he passed into the kitchen, Mycroft was standing right behind him.

“We need to talk!” Sherlock huffed and closed his eyes.

“And I need to find Stockings.”

“In the kitchen?”

“Well. Maybe.”

“We both know exactly that they are already waiting beside the fireplace. Molly gave them to you and you put them there. I am sure the tumor hasn't yet eaten away all of your brain.”

That got Sherlock's attention.

“Don't speak like that!”

“Ohh! A sour spot. What is this now?" Mycroft gestured between him and his brother, eveluating the space allusively, almost mocking, "Do we use respect now in our communication? Are we sneaking around the fear now? Tell me Sherlock. Tell me where it hurts and maybe I can help you. This is how things work with you these days.”

“I asked you to not speak like that!”

“And I asked you why? This seems the only way to get through your thick skull.” His voice did not only increased in mock, but in volume as well.

Sophie, who had picked up on the tension, had let her hand fall from her mouth and starred at her father's face. It was clear to see around her eyes and the movements of her head that she would soon start crying.

“I am asking you to use a different tone and a lower voice in the presence of my child.”

Mycroft didn't respond, rather he lowered his head and cleared his throat. Sherlock felt not one ounce of triumph. After only seconds he also let his view wander and finally came to rest it on his daughter and sussed little Sophie back into a happy gurgle. 

“There is a Neurosurgeon in New York willing to look into your case.” 

“Well then. Give me time to put her down for her nap. I will be back shortly.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want to find me on Tumblr, I am autumn-grace.


	4. August 24, 2022

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I rearranged the words of the great T.S. Eliot for this title, as I have borrowed some lines of the same poem: “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock” to introduce the sentiment of this story. It might just be one of my favorite poems of all time. Also I took the liberty of using the characters of the BBC Sherlock to work through some feelings.

Sherlock woke up disorientated. It took him a second to realize that he was at home, on the sofa. It could also not be later than shortly after midday based on the light falling into the room. It didn't make sense. 

“You slept for nearly three hours.” Sherlock looked to the side. Molly was sitting in the recliner, her notebook balanced on her lap, papers and reports strategically placed around her. A stack of magazines was placed neatly beside his head. 

“Did I?” That sounded stupid even to his own ears. 

With a look of rightfulness Molly turned her head to the clock in the kitchen, he followed her line of sight and was confirmed in his assumption that it was just past one. 

“You might just be getting too old for a three-nighter.” Molly mumbled, she was looking at a report at her side while she was tipping.

Sherlock reconstructed the morning. He had come home at about half two, took a shower and fell into bed. He had slept till at least seven. That was enough sleep! For a moment he considered Molly's words. Then, however, he remembered the headache that quite literally brought him to his knees. It was just a moment but he had let himself sink to the sofa. He remembered closing his eyes, the children playing - or fighting considering the noise they were making. 

“Why is it so quite in here?” 

For a moment Sherlock had thought about telling Molly about the headache in order to condemn himself of her believe that he was getting too old for his job. What a ridiculous thing to think. The way she was absorbed by her work in this moment though, made a chance of winning an argument relatively small.

“Henry was picked up by Mary an hour ago. I put Soph down for her nap half an hour ago and Elli, again, is laying on the bathroom floor, for at least as long as Henry is gone.” That last part of her sentence made Molly look up from her work. The seriousness of her expression made Sherlock sit up. All evidence of a previous headache gone. 

“Can you please check on her?”

He got to his feet and passing Molly, he rested his hand on her head for a moment, letting it caressing her hair in passing. It was his way of saying he would try. Again.

He knocked on the door, it was closed. He didn't get an answer. He opened the door and let it swing open. 

“Daddy, I am thinking! Get out.” Sherlock looked at her with raised eyebrows. She looked back. He walked into the room, her eyes following him. He sat down on the side of the bathtub, still looking down at her. For a moment they stared at each other. Ellie, in a way of expressing her annoyance, pulled her arms in from her sides and crossed them over her chest, looking away from him and starred up at the ceiling.

“When you're thinking, we are not allowed to disturb you.”

“That is right. But I am doing it because it is my job.” 

“Maybe thinking can be my job, too!”

“Well. I think you can do whichever job you like, when you are not a child anymore. However, I feel that there is still a lot of time until then.”

“Why don't children have jobs, Daddy?” Her head had fallen back to the side, she looked up at him waiting for an answer. 

“Children don't have a job because they are children.” 

“DADDY! That is not an answer...” She knitted her little eyebrows together and glanced at him, defeating him with his own rules.

There was a very long right answer to this and there was a very easy distraction. Sherlock decided to shortcut his way into getting more information on her twhat she was doing here during her bathfloor sessions. He slipped down to his knees, threw himself beside Elli and started tickling her. Within seconds, she was screaming and laughing, begging, kicking and fighting. 

It was not until both were breathless that Sherlock let himself fall beside her and they were laying beside each other. Elli had a face wet from crying, both had red spots all over their skin, their hair was a mess. Occasionally, Sherlock had a small outburst of laughter which resulted in him poking her side. 

After a while, when they had both calm down again, the only sound was the ventilation lulling them into the white noise of the small room.

He didn't particularly know how to approach her and this new thing of hers. She was up to all sorts of things. They had soon learned that Elli, in her development, worked quite differently to Henry. They were both clever and fast witted, both happy and loud and kind. Molly and him had decided to not let them be tested unless there was an acute need to. That also meant that they had a very close eye on them, and Elli especially. She had instances where she spend more time in her head than Henry ever did or does. In so far, it wasn't particularly worrying that she spend some time on the bathroom floor. The frequency recently however slowly developed into a concern in Molly's mind, not so much in his. He was much more curious. 

He looked around the room, by now, Elli had again started to observe the ceiling very closely, her eyes flickering from one spot to the other and that was the moment he realized. It was so easy that he laughed out loud for a moment and sat back up, looking down at his clever, clever child. She didn't pay him any notice. So back to the floor it was. He shuffled himself into such a position that he was head-level with her. Which also meant that his legs were basically hugging the toilet.

What Sherlock saw above him now was no longer a ceiling. It was a mind-board. There were nine ceiling panels, three times three and four of them had lights built into them. The one in the middle was plank. 

“Explain to me, what panel fulfills which task!”

When father and daughter now locked eyes, they both smiled and Elli, in excitement started to spill all her secrets, talking faster than he had ever heard her speak. 

“And in the middle you keep the problem you are working on right now?”

“Yes! It keeps all the other thoughts away in the other panels around the middle one and it is much quieter in my head.”

That felt like a punch to the stomach and Sherlock's grinning face froze.

“Why did you never tell Mummy or me that your head is too full of... filled with noise?” 

Elli shrugged her little shoulders.

“Because when I am here, it is not.”

“And when we asked you why you spend so much time recently in here, that would have been a very good answer.”

“But I didn't know you would understand! I thought you would say I am weird that way...”

Sherlock's eyes opened wide in shock. He took Ellis hand in his and pushed himself closer to her, giving her the chance to crawl into his arms if she wanted.

“Whatever gave you that idea?”

“When Henry is out with Uncle Lestrade, John and Rosie to the football ground you say that he is doing his weird stuff. And Mummy said you were only saying that because you don't understand the rules of the game!”

While she was telling him that, she was indeed crawling into his open arms.

“Oh Love.” He wanted to punch himself. Really hard. Maybe he needed to ask Molly to do that for him instead.

“I am going to stop saying that. I promise. Your Mum is right, I don't get football. That is no reason for me to say it is weird. I will never say it again. Okay? And I need you to promise me that whenever it is getting too loud in your head you tell me or Mummy! Okay?”

She nodded.

“Not just nodding. Promise me. Use your words! When your head is loud and it is upsetting you, you tell Mummy or me, please?”

Sherlock softly took her head in his hands and made her look up at him. 

“Yes. I promise.” 

“Okay. Now, close your eyes for me!”

“Why?”

“Do it for me. I am telling you in a moment.” She did. Still in an embrace with her father.

“Can you see the ceiling?” She wanted to lift her head, Sherlock softly stopped her.

“No. Eyes stay closed. Picture the ceiling in you head. Tell me when you can see it.”

It took a while. She wanted to look up once or twice. Sherlock assumed that her problem was in wanting to imagine it accurately. 

“Don't worry if it is not absolutely right. As long as you see the pattern.” Another moment later she nodded again. Her face was full of concertration, her tongue linking her lips.

“Okay. Then I think I can see it.”

“Can you memorize it?”

“I think.”

“Very good.”

“Now. Assign each panel its problem.”

“OHH! Daddy!” She opened her eyes in excitement, looking up and not a second later jumping to her feet. She flew out of the bathroom and into the lounge. With all the excitement of a three and a-half year old, she explained to her mother that she would no longer need to spent extra time in the bathroom. She didn't like it in there anyway.

Sherlock stayed on the floor a moment longer, pushed the soft rug Elli had used for comfort back in front of the bathtub and then, with a hand pressed to his mouth, took a deep breath in and out through his nose. This might just have been a disaster prevented.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want to find me on Tumblr, I am autumn-grace.


	5. September 11, 2022

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, my computer went to computer heaven. Things got lost. It took me a while. But here I am again. Second of all, I struggled long and hard with me for chosing this date. To actually use it, because I am well aware of its implication. Still, last year on this day, I lost a very special person and as I said, I am writing this to work through shit. This is exactly the shit I was refering to. 
> 
> The usual disclaimer.

Molly knew something was wrong when Helena walked into the room and started speaking without making a pause for so much as a hello, or the chance for her to extract her hands from the body she was currently performing an autopsy on.

“There is a call for you, Molly! It is important.” Molly waited for more information which did not come.

“Can I call back?” 

“No.” Molly looked from Helena down onto the heart she was short from extracting.

“Who is it?” 

“John Watson.” 

That put Molly's initial evaluation of the situation into perspective. She pulled out of the disposable gloves and gown she was wearing and walked over to the telephone on the wall.

“What is wrong?” She asked without a second thought.

“Sherlock had a epileptic seizure, he knocked himself out in the process. He is on the way to Barth's.”

Molly remembered repeating the word seizure. 

She did not remembered the process of leaving the morgue or the way through the huge hospital complex into A&E. Possible causes, numbers, statistics run through her head, information she long thought forgotten.

When they wheeled him in, he was barely conscious, a mixture of the concussion as well as of exhaustion. 

Waiting outside during the examination gave her time to call Mary, who was, of course, already informed and promised her to make sure the children came home and were cared for. She was glad to not be alone with her thoughts for an extended period of time as John walked in not long after she had hung up on Mary.

She didn't think about much all together to be honest. There was this constant buzz of worry which she tried to argue away. An undertone of annoyance, because John wouldn't stop walking up and down the hall. She tried to keep from jumping to conclusions. She also tried hard not to imagine what it all could mean.

It was hours later, when she was sitting at Sherlock's bedside, after the first of a seemingly endless number of CT's and hours after the doctor had left the room, having delivered the results, a low grade astrocytoma, that she stopped struggling to obtain her organized demeanour and let the panic replace the fight. 

She was holding his hand and she needed to let it go in a sudden stroke of fear that made her stand up and walk over to the window, where she for a moment tried to find her calm by staring into the night. It didn't help. Walking back and sitting down, staring at her husbands sleeping form also didn't help. It hadn't for the last two hours..

She had promised to go home then. To be back in the morning when she would bring him home after another round of examinations and explanations and appointment-making. She didn't know how to leave. 

Walking back to the window she tried deep breathing, grounding herself with her head against the cold glass. But her body reacted despite her mind trying to control it. Maybe it was the shock of the day that had caught up with her, or the fantasies of the possible consequences, the fear mixed with the anger. 

So she cried. Grasping onto the windowsill, the lights outside a blurry mess. She was shaking and cold and tired and afraid. She wanted it to be this morning again when everything was still all right, at least to the perception of the unsuspecting mind. How couldn't there have been any signs? Have there been signs and she overlooked them? Was it a mistake to go back to work? They hadn't had much time for each other in the last year. Maybe something could have been done much earlier...

Suddenly arms wrapped themselves around her. Sherlock turned her around and she slung her arms around him. Her face pressed into his neck and his check pressed against her forehead and even though it might have seemed a contest of strength, they drew more from it than they lost.


	6. December 24, 2022 (at night)

Molly crawled into bed exhausted. There was nothing more tiring than fresh county air on the first day out of the city, when pregnant on Christmas Eve. Nothing. So her eyes were closed before her head hit the pillow. Sherlock's hand found its way into her hair, where he started to rub her scalp, she was instantly asleep. She wanted to wish him a good night and tell him that she loved him, it was her last conscious thought. 

It was from this deep slumber that she was cruelly, but unintentionally woken up by an elbow in her ribs. She groaned, turned onto the side and opened her eyes where a pair of brown ones watched her in the dark of the room.

“Sorry Mummy. I didn't mean to wake you.” Henry, in company of his duvet and his yellow catlike plushy, had found their way into bed.

“It's all right. Try to sleep.” She looked over to Sherlock who was silently watching. He didn't look a bit as if he'd had any sleep at all so far. 

“He has been here twice to check if it's already morning.” Sherlock explained. It was the same every year, so the fact that he'd send him back twice, before simply alowing the boy to stay, was implicit. 

“I can't sleep. I am soo nervous!” Molly silently and shortly laughed and lifted her hand from under her duvet and ruffled her son's hair. 

“Can we sing a song?”

“What would you like to sing?” For all the tiredness and the need to go back to sleep herself, she knew that singing would send Henry right back to the land of exiting Christmas dreams.

“The song that grandpa sung along to in the kitchen when we had to go to bed and he was drying the dishes?” Molly needed to think, it must surely have been a Christmas song, there was no memory of anything other than Christmas songs being played all evening. She looked over to Sherlock who had his eyebrows pulled high and his shoulders signified that he had no idea.

“It was about a kaleidoscope, we have one in school!“ In that moment, Molly understood two thing: Singing with him was not in the game tonight, he wanted to be sang at, and second, if they didn't act soon, he would be wide awake talking about kaleidoscopes.

Sherlock, already with his telephone at hand was reading something or other before he started singing 'Can you feel the love tonight' by Elton John. It was hard not to laugh and it wasn't completely evitable, not after Henry clapped his hands once in excitement. However, she quickly caught his hands to prevent him from continuing. Sherlock, instinctively did the same. Otherwise, there would be two wildly awake children at half one in the morning.

(Both adults quickly looked down in the direction of their feet where Sophie was sleeping in a cot. Oblivious to the turmoils of the night, as she usually was. She, like her mother, was a deep sleeper and in addition she had two older and always load siblings.) 

When the girl didn't even stir, Sherlock continued singing and despite the comedic undertone of the situation, as that kind of music wasn't the usual choice, Molly was able to join his lead. Without him she wouldn't have been able to come up with any lyrics. Ultimately, it was during the second repetition that Henry had fallen asleep, holding the hands of both his parents.

Together, they were silent for a while after they had stopped. 

“Have you had any sleep yet?” Molly asked after a few minutes, suddenly too awake to easily fall back asleep again. Sherlock shook his head. He didn't speak, but Molly felt that it was not due to the lack of topic but rather for the lack of words to approach the topic. 

A lot has changed during the years. His improved ability to consider his words before he spoke them was one of them. In this situation however, Molly wished he wouldn't. She wished he was blunt again, and direct and inconsiderate of her feelings and emotions, of her reactions and opinions. But he wasn't and it was lovely most of the time, however right now it was important he talked to her freely, uncensored and directly.

It was one of the reason why back in November, he had this urge to run away, because he felt all that anger and fear had accumulated into an overload of emotions, which he didn't know how to handle. But knowing that shutting himself down was a direct lane to becoming the man he had decided he never wanted to be again after having acknowledged that what he felt for Molly was more than friendship, more than a childish infatuation. It had been love. It was still love. And he was sure that it would never be anything but.

When he moved to put his telephone back into charge, Molly decided to make it easier on him by giving some time to think while she blubbled away herself.

“Violet was so surprised about the baby. I was sure she knew the moment we walked in... Like the last three times.” 

“Yeah... well despite all her hopes and her believes, she had given up any hope for grandchildren years ago. Now she will have four.” He paused and looked directly into her eyes, then he let go of Henry's hand and reached over him and pushed his hand under her duvet and under her pyjama top onto her five month bump, it was already very evident and it was growing and there was another child on its way.

“She's asleep.” He observed after a long while of caressing her skin. She nodded. She thought about addressing the pronoun, but didn't. It was a discussion for another time.

“Would you allow me to speak hypothetically?”

Molly had an idea where this was leading. She nodded, now reaching for his hand, intertwining their fingers.

“I will write it down in addition... Mary suggested to make videos... she apparently did that just in case... but I need you to know just the same, right now.” Again he paused. Molly waited. Now sure about what was to come.

“If she ever doubts my love for her, based on the fact that I never got to meet her, tell her of this moment, will you? Tell her, that right now she is as real to me and to my heart as the other three.”

Both nodded at each other. Molly was confused because despite the tumor and the failed treatment there was a bit of time left more than four month, but she knew the moment was important so she let it slip.

“In this moment, it eats away on my sanity. She is still barely a thing and I am missing her in reveres. I am missing her, Molly. And it frightens me. I am so afraid right now.”

Molly started shaking, not with tears but with emotions. Their hands suddenly holding on to each other for dear life. The next words however completely sobered her up and suddenly she understood.

“There is a neurosurgeon in New York, he wants to make his own tests shortly after new years to confirm a possible operation date within the next three weeks.”

“What?” The word slipped out, softly and missing its last hard consonant, Molly pushed herself up into a sitting position, looking down past her sleeping son and into her husbands face, who was looking straight up at the ceiling. 

“But that's not the plan.”

“It's a better plan.”

“No! It is not. Within the next ten days? Ten days?!” 

“Mycroft promises he is the best in his field...” 

“You are the best in your field and you make mistakes!”  
“I am also the only person in my field.”

“Sherlock!” Molly angrily whispered, afraid to her bones. There was a countdown where before had only been hope.

They battled the silence of the room, battled each others need to be right and each others fear to be wrong. And then Molly saw the glitter of unshed tears in his eyes and the force of his jawline to stay locked, his left fist closed and the first tremor in his shoulders, the attempt to swallow away the pain in his throat. 

And Molly didn't know what to do except to climb carefully over both Henry and Sherlock, who now was shaking his head in an attempt to keep his wife on her side of the bed to not make this whole ordeal even worse. But then she slipped into that small space between the wall and him and she engulfed him in her arms and her legs and her hair and the bump pressed into his side - against his stomach when he finally turned towards her. 

He shock through silent tear, for minutes and minutes. He shock until he felt like vomiting and screaming and then all the way into exhaustion and muscle pain and dizziness. 

When he woke, not remebering to have ever been close to sleep, hours later there were another two children stuffed into the bed and they were all together waiting for the morning to come.


	7. November 19th (the morning after John found Sherlock)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have mentioned it in the previous post that my old laptop broke and I lost a bunch of data, including some chapters of this. My motivation to rewrite was very low, as there were chapters on there which I worked on hard (especially the meeting with the NY doctor as I had help from a good soon-to-be-doctor friend... I won't rewrite this scene, I will have to skip it somehow). I don't want to give up completely however, I will try my best to finish this. 
> 
> Thank you for the many kudos and the nice comments! I think I haven't done that so far :)

When Molly woke up at half past six, like clockwork, she was overwhelmed by emotions when she found Sherlock sleeping beside her. They were overall negative emotion. 

Sherlock and her had fallen asleep without talking the previous night. For various reasons. After Henry had occupied Sherlock for the better part of the evening, the boy was hyped-up and rightfully so. There were stories to tell and things to show and cuddles to have. When they had, in a shared effort, put every child to bed and were convinced that they were actually asleep, Molly stated to get obnoxiously sick. Sicker than she had been for a long time. If she thought about it now, she hadn't been that sick since having been pregnant with Ellie. It was far after midnight when she had finally made it to bed. 

All the while Sherlock was at her side, sitting on the edge of the tub, and all the while she wanted him there and wished him to hell, simultaneously. Between spells of dizziness and waves of defeating nausea, when her breath had regulated and her heart had stopped pounding in her ears, she tried to ask him why he did it.

The anger and disappointment continuously brought on another wave and ultimately she send him away. When she observed from the corner of her eye that he was carrying his bedding into the launch, she screamed at him, in a pathetic and weak voice, to put that back where it belonged. In that haze of nausea, she was beyond all reason, everything she had made up in her head, all the whys and all the compassion she held in her heart, had been sufficiently non existing in this moment. She had been rightfully unreasonable. (In spite of knowing she still had every right to be just that. She had every right to scream at him and question their marriage and wonder if, deep down, he had ever changed at all.) Still, the few hours of sleep had sobered her up and the darkness of early morning made her see clearer. 

With a tightly cramped up jaw she told herself to count her blessings, after all Sherlock was back, he was beside her again, he intended not to leave again. However, in which universe had that actually been blessings, opposed to certainties that should be, should have never changed in the first place. So she stopped counting her blessings. It made her angry and she couldn't bare to be angry for much longer. It made her think cruel thoughts and made her chest hurt. But underneath the anger was fear, and she didn't want to deal with the fear either. 

There was for that very moment in time only one thing she could do. It was what she did every morning. A peace-offering of the sweetest kind. (And yes, it wasn't her offering to make, but it was the best course of action she could muster.) She got up and after returning from the bathroom, like clockwork, Sophie was standing in her cot, a big smile on her face. She lifted her up, spread little kisses all over her face and went back to bed, crawling in and placing her in the middle of the bed. That was when the little girl noticed that someone else was back. 

Sophie, with more enthusiasm than most mornings, pushed herself on her hand and feet. Repeating 'Dada' over and over. She was half way up on Sherlock back before he began to stir. Molly set herself up against the headboard. Usually, they had some quite time in the morning. Both Ellie and Henry wouldn't wake up till around seven. This morning, by its very nature, was different. Molly observed the irritation in Sherlock's eyes for a moment, it was only there for less than a second, and then he closed his eyes again. When he opened them a second time, he seemed deeply relieved and there was almost a smile gracing the corners of his mouth. Sophie was basically incapacitating Sherlock by lying all over his right arm and half his back. Her face was soon pressed into his face and her arms around his head, her hands in his hair. Molly was sitting, grinning in delight. It was exactly what she needed.

By pushing his left side up, Sherlock tackled the fourteen month old off his back and in the same move, grabbed her with his right arm, drawing her under him and into his hug while rolling on his left side. Sophie was giggling wholeheartedly the whole way through. She wiggled her arms free and pressed them into her fathers face, again repeating 'Dada' loud and crisp and like a bell. She never stopped the laughing and giggling. She was the happiest child in all of London in this very moment, Molly was convinced.

“I see, you can hardly be convinced to get some more sleeps.” Sherlock pressed his lip to her forehead and gave her a kiss after the other. Molly cradled the back of the child's head and draw her hand through the fine, soft baby-hair. In between, Sophie calmed down from her laughing fit.

“I – am – not - going – to – let – you – go.” Each word between a kiss. Sophie's hands now were grasping the neck of the T-shirt he was sleeping in. The sentiment was mutual and Molly's anger, for the moment, gone. They would need to talk. They definitely needed to make sure, it would never happen again. But maybe that could wait for another few hours.


	8. November 1st (Henry's birthday)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is a short one. I fought with every sentence and more wouldn't come. Enjoy it :)

The rain was horizontally hitting the windows of the flat for hours now. And as weather sometimes does, it perfectly reflected the mood of the couple finishing some last touches on their son's birthday cake. He was six today and Mary had kindly suggested that her and John would host a small birthday party in their stead. Still, Molly had insisted on making a cake because that was what she did every year, for all of her children. So here she was now.

A below 38 percent survival chance wouldn't change anything about it. (That at least was the survival rate before the weekend, after they hadn't yet known about the unsuccessful chemotherapy.) Or a very likely kidney failure during a second, now necessary, chemotherapy to get rid of the part of the tumour that couldn't be removed during the operation back in September. Or a at last broken drug-habit that is accountable for a pair of shit kidneys. 

Sherlock sits at the breakfast-bar opposite Molly, observing as she decorated the cake. Molly suspected that he would rather lay down, hoping that the everlasting tiredness could somehow be overcome if he only tried hard enough. He was stubbornly trying to make everyone believe he was all right. 

It was approaching 10:24am, both were having a close watch on the time. Six years ago, Molly was in the very last stages of labour, about to deliver their first child. 

“It's a Tuesday. I had him on a Tuesday.” Molly says while swirling chocolate over the cake in front of her. She looks up when she notices that Sherlock was looking at her.

“I admire you for what you did that day.”

“I gave birth. Woman do that every minute of every day.” Molly shrugs.

“You say that every year.”

“It is what it is.” Molly wants to cry.

“You gave birth to Henry.”

“You say that every year.” She laughs instead, but her throat hurts.

“It doesn't stop being true.”

“Maybe.” A tear rolls down her cheek and she swallows desperately.

Sherlock reaches for her over the counter, grabs her arm and draws her around it and into his arms. There is so much tension in her and no time to release any of it these days. Sometimes she promises herself to cry at night, but most times she falls asleep beforehand. 

11:24 am comes and passes and with it the exact anniversary of Henry's birth, which they usually celebrate with a kiss. All the while Molly loses her stubborn fight to make everyone believe she was all right.


	9. October 3rd (They find out about the pregnancy)

Except for the ventilator in the bathroom and the humming of the fridge, the flat was quiet. The kids were sleeping, so was Sherlock. At least that was what Molly thought while she was laying at the bottom of the empty bathtub. Lucy, their three year old feline, was curled up on her chest. She was deeply lost in her thoughts. 

Thus, when Sherlock was suddenly leaning in the doorway, looking over at her, all miserable and shaky, clearly lined by the strains of chemotherapy, she was slightly startled. 

“That's my space now.” The bathtub had proven to be an ideal place from which to fight nausea, the light of the room and the white noise of the ventilator had the almost magical ability to sway you into a state of calm. 

“I guess we have to come up with a schedule then.” She lifted her left arm up and held a pregnancy test into his general direction, her right hand was still patting the cat. 

Sherlock was taking the three steps into the room and snagged the object from her hand, staring at it.

“It's positive,” he whispered the words. Though they felt like deafening screams, echoing from the walls.

There were a lot of comebacks at the tip of Molly's tongue, she swallowed them one by one and watched as Sherlock sank down beside her, outside of the bathtub. When he next looked up, they were staring at each other at eye level.

“We were careful.” Sherlock was still whispering.

“We really were not.” Molly didn't bother with whispering, breaking eye-contact she concentrated on softly squishing the cats head and ears.

“Fuck.”

“Well, that got us there in the first place...”

“Molly...” there was a warning quality to his tone.

“Yes, Sherlock! Yes! I know. I really, really know. We didn't fucking plan for Sophie, either. Apparently we are the most irresponsible adults on this planet. But it happened. Now we need to deal with it. On top of everything else. We need to deal with it.”

Molly had set up straight, Lucy had jumped from her arms onto her legs and up on the edge of the bathtub, just to ledge out of the room. 

At the end of her short speech, they, again, were holding eye contact, fiercely and almost stubbornly. This time it was broken by Sherlock, letting his head sink into his hands as if defeated by the situation and Molly's words. When really it was mostly fatigue weighting down on him, wearing his nerves thin and his patience short.

“Please?” Finally, Molly's voice had turned soft. It was a question she couldn't define, she didn't know what it was she wanted, but it was loaded with meaning beyond its discourse. It spoke very silently of the possibilities they had, which they both knew were out of question, still it was there for a second in the back of both of their minds. It was a plea for Sherlock to not let her alone, and again, both clearly were beyond control in that respect. It was fear. Fear and hope.  
It took some time before Sherlock answered, while he was compartmentalizing all those same feelings.

“So, another baby. We will finally have to move.” It was a while before Sherlock fathomed the strength to look up again. He also lifted his hand and reached for Molly's, taking it between his.

“Yes.” For the first time today, maybe in weeks, Molly felt joy deep in the pit of her stomach and it creeped all the way up and onto her lips. And as there was nothing more contagious in Sherlock's life than Molly's smile, he too, started grinning.

It was out of the delirium of emotions that they started laughing. Holding onto each others hands they laughed until they were short of breath, their cheeks hurt and their belly protested. And then some. 

“We're going to have another baby.” Sherlock spoke after they both had taken some time to deep-breath. By now, his head was resting on the edge of the tub. Molly's hand was in his hair, softly caressing through his curls. 

“Mmmhm,” she contemplated her next question.

“You actually wanted in here? Are you all right?” 

First, he only shook his head. Then: “I was on the way to the kitchen. I saw you sitting there and we haven't properly talked all day...” He let the second question slid.

“We don't do that much these days.” 

“That took an unpleasant turn.”

“It wasn't supposed to. It's just an observation.” There were two ways to take this conversation, uphill or downhill. Molly decided that for the moment, both were acceptable, it was needed equally. So, she waited for Sherlock to decide.

“I guess we will meet here more often from now on. We should utilize that quality time.” He was back to whispering, the sarcasm, consequently, lost.

“We definitely should,” Molly laughed. It was okay, not today then. Her hand came to rest between his shoulder-blades, he relaxed under her touch.

“Let's get to bed. Don't fall asleep on the floor.” She lifted herself up, reaching for Sherlock's hands and helped him up. When they both were standing, Molly inside the tub and Sherlock outside, giving Molly a good four to five inches in hight, they leaned into each other, hugging each other tightly.

“We can do this.” Sherlock breathed in her ear and for that moment in time Molly believed that he was right, in spite of the very present sense of threat that she felt in her finger-tips.


	10. December, 25 (early Christmas morning)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It took me a while to write this. I added a sentence at a time for weeks. I don't know what that means other then me being unfocused and slow these days. Hope it is still somewhat enjoyable.

It was barely five am when Molly woke up a second time this night to the excited whispers of her two eldest. Ellie was apparently kneeling at the foot of the bed by her feet, trying to find a way in that wouldn't wake her parents. Unsuccessful. With closed eyes she listened, hoping that maybe, just maybe if she pretended to never having woken up in the first place, she might get a little bit more sleep.

“Go over Mummy's feet.” 

“But there is no space with you. Why can't we wake them up?”

“Because I promised Dad. He said not to before Sophie wakes up!”

“And why don't we wake her?” Ellie went on, still not having moved.

“Obviously because she is going to scream if we wake her, and then Dad will know.”

“That is stupid... Let's wake Rosi!”

“Nooo! Remember last year! Now come here.”

Molly decided to have mercy on her daughter, the family as a whole and her sanity in particular by drawing in her knees and letting Ellie pass through to the middle of the bed. Both children were holding their breath and Molly felt their eyes on her. In that moment she wondered if Sherlock was on the same mission as her, also awake, pretending to be asleep. However, if that was the case, he was doing it brilliantly convincing. 

“There is space beside Dad.”

“I will wake him if I crowl in there. And I have no blanket.” 

“Just go fast and take mine, I am under Mummy's” 

There was shuffling. Molly was peaking from one eye and considered to just give herself away, help the children along and maybe have some quiet time left. It wouldn't be long until Sophie actually woke up. 

With the duvet gone there was suddenly much more space in the middle, which Henry seemed to realize as well. Ellie was now covered in a mountain of fluff and lost behind her father.

“That is stupid! The wall is cold. Maybe I can get under Daddy's blanket, wait...” Again the duvet rustled and was suddenly kicked to the end of the bed. 

In the process of his duvet being invaded by Ellie, Sherlock groaned and rolled over, apparently (and to probably everyone's, mostly Molly's, surprise) still asleep. Now they were evenly spread over the bed and as silence fell, Molly nearly drifted back to sleep. But of course the children had other plans.

“What do we do now?” Sophie asked.

“We wait for Soph to wake up.” 

“When is that?”

“Dunno...”

“Do you think Father Christmas brought me a bike?” Molly smiled, knowing that Mycroft had gladly taken that wish on himself and had carried it into the house last night just as her and Sherlock had made their way upstairs.

“I dunno Ellie. And shhh now! We are going to wake Dad. And Mum probably...”

“But I am bored.” 

“Don't care. Close your eyes.”

“t... kay.”

Silence, again, followed. It lasted longer this time. It lasted so long in fact, that Molly could listen to Ellie falling asleep at about the same time that Henry did and Sophie started to wake up. That, however, was probably to Molly's advantage, as she could get to her before she started to draw attention to herself. As Sherlock hadn't woke up through this whole children and blanket commotion, she was thoroughly convinced that he needed every minute of it and by chance, she could give him some more.

Molly tiptoed out of bed, over to Sophie. She caressed the girl and picked her up, took her to the bathroom where she changed the nappy sitting on the floor and used the toilet before going back to the bedroom. Passing John and Mary's room, she could tell that they were up as well. 

When she re- entered the small bedroom, everyone was still (again) asleep. During Molly's absence, Henry had migrated to Sherlock's side of the bed. He had left her duvet behind and was now under his father's. The boy was a such a cuddler, he was seeking human contact even in his sleep and so he had snuggled himself into Sherlock's side.

Laying down, Molly placed Sophie beside her. With the toddler's favourite toy in hand, Molly quietly occupied the girl for a while. She felt the baby move inside her, joining the fun, and a deep sense of awareness flooded her. The smile dropped from her face and Sophie easily grabbed the plushy and giggled in triumph. Next year, everything could be different, different on a level Molly couldn't even comprehend yet. Before the dreadful panic could sink in, she tried to ban these thoughts. Right now, everything was okay. They were together, a family and the only thing important was the present.

Sherlock, ungracefully, saved the moment:

“When did this all happen?” his voice, low and full of sleep, broke through her thoughts and when she looked up, Sherlock vaguely pointed at Henry and Ellie and them.

“The last hour I'd say. How didn't you wake up through any of that?” Sherlock shrugged before rubbing a hand over his face, yawning obnoxiously. 

“You think there is a way to get out without waking them?” Sherlock, while speaking, decided that the question was of a rhetorical nature as there really was no way. It was one thing for a four year old to crawl into bed, another for a fully grown man to get over three people to get out of bed. 

Molly smiled at him. “Mary and John are awake.”

“I am sure my parents are up as well.”

“So /we/ are waking /them/?” The question lingered in the air for a moment or two, maybe three as Molly played with the toddler on her side and Sherlock stretched the sleep out of his limbs.

“It would most likely be the first and the last time.” They looked at each other, contemplating their next move. They both had a grin resting in the corners of their lips. After all it was Christmas and knowing the joy the children would spread throughout the day was somewhat worth giving up on another hour or two of sleep. And again, getting out of bed would most definitely wake them and Sherlock needed to get up, there were meds he had to take.

In the contemplative silence, they could hear steps outside of their room which went past their door, down the hall. They were surely too small to be a grown-up's pair of feet so it was only logical that Rosie was on her way to check on Ellie and Henry. A door squeaked open and after a short moment closed again before the movement came back up the hall and stilled right in front of their door. Rosie silently stood in front of the door. 

Next thing was Mary's low voice from the other end of the hall.

“That is not where the bathroom is, young lady!” 

“But Mummy! You said that Aunt Molly was up. Pleaaase!” A far louder whisper from behind the door. 

Both Sherlock and Molly had their head lifted in an attempt to listen to the conversation. Beside Sherlock on the windowsill, his phone vibrated.

-You guys up?- It was a text message from John. 

-Surprisingly, the children aren't.- Sherlock tipped before putting the phone back down.

There was more whispering which was hard to catch as it happened between Mary and John over in their room. Rosie walked, without another word, but with unnecessary loud footsteps, away from the door. Then the bedroom-door to the other room closed. Once again, silence fell over the house.

Sherlock started to carefully untuck the blanket from the children's arms. It was easier on Henry's side as he was holding onto his arm, rather than onto the fabric. Ellie however, was turned towards the wall and she grabbed onto the blanked with both hands in front of her face. But as Sherlock's left arm was resting behind his head, he could us his hand to caress her hair and the blanket from her and softly take her hands in his.

“Eleonora...Father Christmas was here...” he whispered while Molly at the same time had squished closer to the middle with Sophie and was doing the same to Henry. 

“Wakey, wakey!” She ruffled softly through his hair. All the while Sophie had started to climb towards the end of the bed where Henry had lost his stuffy last night when he first came into the bed. 

It was then that Ellie's tired voice responded first, however, the realization set in so fast that she shot up into a sitting position, turning around on her knees and basically jumping on Sherlock's chest squeaking with excitement while he huffed loudly. The result was that Henry was awake immediately. His head shot up, turned to either side with wide eyes.

“Yes! It's Christmas morning!” Henry loudly exclaimed while starting to kick down the blanket which simultaneously left Sherlock and Ellie without one, too and Sophie got lost in the growing mountain of fluff at the end of the bed. 

“Can we get up, please? Can we!!?” Henry begged. Sherlock set up to help sort out Sophie who wasn't entirely sure if she wanted to laugh or cry. He draw her back into his arms.

“Please, Mummy!” 

“Yes, please!” Ellie added, while she crawled to her mother's side of the bed by passing behind Sherlock. 

“I guess, we can do that!” Molly smiled brightly at the two and set up while receiving extra big hugs from her two eldest children. The hug was interrupted when the door flew open, revealing Rosie with the biggest smile possible, standing in the doorway, hoping in one place, bursting from excitement. Henry ripped himself free, and more or less, jumped out of the bed. Ellie behind them, they ran out of the room and dashed down the stairs.

Molly and Sherlock remained behind with their youngest. Just for a moment, Molly leaned into Sherlock and they listened to the noises of the house, John and Mary leaving their room and following the kids, Sherlock's parents already downstairs trying to calm down the storm. They tried to take in every moment of this Christmas morning before they too, joined the fun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I am slowly reaching the end of this story, I wondered if there was something in particular you would enjoy reading which you might felt was missing? I am open for suggestions.


	11. January, 2. 2023 (planning for NY)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought there was not an ounce of momentum for this story left in me. Then I opened it and wrote this chapter without a second thought. It just came out of my fingers.

“Of course I am coming with you!” 

“There might not even be an operation.”

“Just as much reason to come with you.” 

Sherlock and Molly stand opposite of each other in the middle of the room. Mary and John are sitting on the sofa, Mary sitting on the armrest, her hands folded together, her shoulders and neck tall, her legs spread, as if she was a participant of the discussion. John, on the other hand, was lounging in a position of defeat with his head in his hands, while Mycroft (somehow he was here and neither Molly nor Sherlock had any idea why,) was leaning back in the recliner seemingly relaxed, waiting for a decision to be made as if that was the reason for his presence.

“John has offered his exper....”, Sherlock starts over.

“No! And, I am sorry...” Molly shakes her head and draws a glance over at John, before facing Sherlock again, “... but which expertise? NO!” John simple waves it off, without lifting his head. Knowing she was right. 

“It isn't as if you have...”

“But I am your wife, and I am coming with you! The kids stay with Mary and John, right?” Molly shortly looks over to the sofa again. Mary rolls her eyes and mutters something that sounds suspiciously like 'duuh'. 

“It's that easy, Sherlock.”

“But-”

When he was interrupted this time, it isn't by Molly or his brother or even John and Mary, who had come to bring Henry back two hours ago and hadn't left since (it was their date night, both were nicely dressed and hungry and the babysitter was only booked for three hours). Sherlock is interrupted by Elli, who appeared in the doorway to the lounge.

“Were are you going Daddy?” Both parents turn to the voice. Sherlock huffs, turns away from her and runs his hands trough his hair, walking a few steps away from the scene, before turning to her again, his hands still resting on his head. Molly at this point had of course walked towards her, had opened her arms and lowered her knees to the ground.

“Can I come?” The girl pushes and doesn't really look at Molly who was juggling with words. 

“Sweetie, lets go back to bed.”

“Daddy? Can I come to where you go?” 

“Listen to your Mother, Eleanora. Go back to bed.”

“Are you going now?” 

“He isn't Ellie, he will be here when you wake up in the morning.” Molly assures her because she starts to read the panic in her daughter's face. 

“Promise, Daddy? Promise, please promise, don't leave again. Don't! Please!” The tears start running and she tries to loosen her mothers hold on her arms to run over to him. 

The tears calm Sherlock's anger over the previous discussion and shift him into the situation at hand. A situation that is short of escalating from one second to to the next. So before Molly lets go of Elli's arms to let her run over to him, he strides over to them and without much warning, lifts his daughter up into his arms and marshes out of the room and into the hall, pushing into the bedroom.

With a sigh, Molly climbs back to her feet and turns around. She pushes her hands into her sides and rolls her neck. It pushes out her belly and she feels three pairs of eyes on her and knows they see how exhausted she is, because the point had come to pass where she wasn't trying to hide it any longer. She was constantly on the edge of tears and she was constantly afraid and bone-tired. 

Mycroft is the first to lift, he was also closest to her. He steps to her side, leans over to kiss her temple and rest his hand on her arm.

“I will prepare everything for your journey. Let me know if you want to take Sophie with you.” He states in a low voice and then turns to leave, just shorty after Molly gives a small nod, so small that her teeth keep pressed thoroughly together to keep her tears at bay.

Next Mary kisses her cheek and doesn't touch her anywhere else and John presses a smile into the line of his mouth and nods. Molly holds herself together until the door closes behind all three and her hands fly to her mouth as soon as they are gone while a sob rips through her and wrenches her body. Once, twice and a couple more before she shakes her head violently. She makes herself breath and rubs the tears from her face and promises herself that there will be a better time for brawling her eyes out. And she breathes all the way to the bedroom-door, where she stands for a while, holding onto the frame while assessing her emotions. She had to be sure that she could hold herself together before stepping inside. 

When she did, she found Sherlock and Ellie, not as expected in bed but on the rocking chair in the far corner of the room. Sherlock was holding her against his chest while she was sobbing, pressing her head against his, while he held her head, his hand almost covering it. Sherlock was staring into space while softly shushing her and only when Molly closed the door behind her did he look up. 

She walks over and sits down on the head of the bed, closest to the two of them. Their fight forgotten.

“We haven't figured out where the tears are coming from yet.” Sherlock explains and Molly knows that he knows that they both know where the sadness and fear originate from, but Molly also knows that they needed her to tell them herself. For a short instance Molly was proud of Sherlock for handling his own guilt in this so calmly, then she decided that it was the least he could do and she hated herself a bit for becoming bitter over the fact he had left back in November. 

“I don't want Daddy leaving.” The sentence takes a while until it finally finds its way through sobs and a shortage of breath. 

“I won't be gone for long. But it is very important that I am going.” Molly's eyes widen with Sherlock's choice of words. They lock eyes immediately and she shakes her head needing him to not make promises, but Ellie instantly shakes her head and cries out so desperately it hurts deep in her heart and she recognizes the same pain in Sherlock's eyes. 

“Shhhh. Baby.” He turns back to the attempt of soothing her. Two more times does she calm down only to wail out again after not finding reassurance in a promise of her father's stay. After that she cries herself to sleep.

Sherlock and Molly sit in silence for a long time after that. At one point, Molly goes for his meds and makes him take them while still holding Ellie, watching the clock anxiously all the while.

It is almost midnight when Sherlock gets up and makes his way towards the door. 

“Don't. Put her down with us.” Sherlock looks at her for a moment before walking back to the bed and softly laying her in the middle of it.

“If she wakes up again before morning, she will wake up Henry and I cannot deal with it.” Shrinkingly she wipes a tear from her face. Sherlock reaches for her but she steps back.

“Don't please. I can't deal with myself either. Lets just try to sleep.” 

They barely do that night.


	12. January 12th (Flight to New York)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's slow. But it's getting there. I tried to work on my style a bit here and incorperating backflashes seamlessly. Hopefully it worked and didn't confues to much while reading :)
> 
> Thank you for coming back every time and leaving comments! I don't even know what to say.

Sherlock had disappeared in his mind palace a good two hours ago. For a while, Molly had tried to close her eyes and find some rest but she had soon found that she was far from finding sleep. She should have known. She had never been able to sleep on a plane. Why should this occasion be any other?

She shook her head with a sad smile on her face. In years she hadn't experienced this level of piece and quite and room to spend time with herself. The morgue obviously didn't count. She didn't bring a book because she was certain she wouldn't be able to immerse in a story and while she aimlessly clicked herself through apps and news-articles on her phone, to the point the movement of her thumb annoyed her, she knew she had been right. Her thoughts where all over the place, New York only a couple of hours away.

She locked the home screen numerous times and after she unlocked it the seventh time in about 10 minutes, her fingers found a goal. Instead of updating for new mails, she scrolled through the archive. She opened a file from her doctor and after a moment a fast thudding noise emerged from her phone's speakers. It didn't overpower the air plane engine but it reached her ears all the same. 

Two days ago, she had her 20 week appointment. Everything was fine. Baby measured slightly on the smaller side, but the doctor didn't express any further concerns. The anatomy scan also confirmed the earlier suspicion that they had another girl. For a full three hours after the scan, Sherlock and her completely devoted their time to themselves and various what ifs. 

“If we accept Mycroft's offer to move into Uncle Rudy's old...” Molly interrupted him while they cross the street outside the doctor's office. It is a brisk and cold morning, but the sun is shining fiercely in the blue sky. Molly used to enjoy this side of winter. Her mind didn't register the weather very thoroughly these days. 

They are wrapped into their coats and Molly is pressed into his side and his gloved hand is holding her opposite shoulder. His head is turned towards her head and his mouth is barely over her left ear.

“Leave London completely!? You're out of your mind, Mr. Holmes!” She laughs and smiles up at him and he smiles at her. They had never considered the possibility to move away from London, not for more space, not for better air, not for more time because of a shorter commute.

“They call it Lawless London these days. And we are outnumbered by children. Between us we have one hand for each and non to defend ourselves.” Sherlock argued and Molly wondered were his words came from.

“For you it has always been Lawless London and you're the Master.” Molly grins.

Sherlock shakes his head in fake patronisation, but he smiles and it carries into his next words:

“Ridiculous. I have never been anyone's Master. We both know that, Molly.” 

They look up and down the street for a cab but Molly spots a cafe a few feet down the road. It had always hovered in her peripheral vision when leaving the doctor's. But time never really allowed her to investigate further. Now she is looking over, trying to read the menu. 

“We have a moment before we need to pick up Sophie.” She states while she tries to manipulate her eyes into deciphering the words. But Sherlock was already pushing her in the direction of the place.

“You are trying to say what exactly?” He teases her despite having almost reached the glass door. 

“Easy: Your daughter is hungry.” Molly smiles while Sherlock opens the door into _Helen's_ and lets her step inside before he himself takes the small step into the warm shop. They find a place close to the fire and order tea and hot chocolate and a Full English for Molly and a side of Hashbrowns for Sherlock. 

“Don't you sometimes have the feeling you want to start over completely?” Sherlock suddenly asks while reading the special waffle's menu on the board on the wall beside their table.

Molly concentrates on pushing a Marshmallow down into the warm brown milk. It flops from under her spoon back to the surface. She looks up at his words and looks slightly flabbergasted.

“What do you mean? Pack my bags and leave, you, the kids, my job, my cat?” 

“No! Not like that. Molly. Not like- No.” He might have pushed a button he didn't intended to come near. “Never without the kids. Just move away to somewhere no one knows us, where there are new things to see and maybe get a dog... a real dog.”

“Like out of London? Into your uncle's house. Do _you_ think about it?” It was almost needless to ask, he had given the answer already. 

“We should pick a name.” 

Molly knits her eyebrows close together and considers stopping his chaotic thoughts and make him stay cohered so this conversation wouldn't turn lopsided. 

“We should, yes.” She decides to give him another chance. Maybe he would catch up with himself.

“I thought about Iris. Or Gene.” 

“Nice. I like both.” Sherlock nods and then the food arrives and Molly's smile stretches over her whole face and instantly ducks a piece of the fried toast into the beans and then in her mouth. After her first few bits and the satisfaction of the flavours in combination with a happy stomach she contributes her own ideas.

“I like Juniper.” 

It's on Sherlock to lift his eyebrows. “I don't like Juniper.” Molly shrugs and takes it from her mental list.

“Olivia?” She suggested next and Sherlock looks into space for a moment.

“Olivia is nice.” he finally agrees. “Olivia Gene.” he adds after another moment and a sip of tea.

Molly smiles happily at him around her mouthful of eggs. 

A small series of turbulences shake Molly from her memories. And she realized that her phone is still playing the heartbeat of her unborn baby. She turns it of and locks the screen a final time before she shuffles the phone away into her bag. It made her too nervous.

She thinks about that morning and she still wonders what Sherlock tried to tell her then. He had never so much as suggest that he ever not wanted to be in London. He had never before talked about this house his brother had been necking him with since Henry was born. Sure, space was a topic they needed to discuss. And they had started to talk about it, but it fell in the background during these last couple of weeks and month. 

Molly tries to close her eyes once more but realizes that she needed to use the toilet. With a deep sign she pushes herself up. Mycroft smiles at her when she passes him while he types on his laptop, seemingly bored with his task. At least he found a way to distract himself.

When she comes back, Sherlock's eyes are open and he reaches for her hand to draw her onto his lap. She willingly drops into his arms and absorbs the closeness and warmth they share for the next moments.

**Author's Note:**

> If you want to find me on Tumblr, I am autumn-grace. Also, this is not beta'ed and not for a lack of trying to find someone. So, if you are bothered by my mistakes, visit me in the comments :)


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